


Candy Man

by oonaseckar



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Coup de foudre, Crush at First Sight, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Porn, Pornstars, fluffer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Steve's an art student.  And paying the rent as a fluffer.Aaaand... nah, that's it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	1. fluffernutter sandwich

**Author's Note:**

> "...'cause he sprinkles it with love and makes the wooorld taste good..." It's the song. Sammy Davis Jr. That one.

Bucky climbed out of his car in the studio parking lot –- Italian, a performance number and _screaming_ yellow, of _course_ –- and headed for the talent's dressing rooms. It was a good half hour or so before he was wanted on set, and he wanted to shower, settle, and prepare himself for his performance.

Well, maybe _prepare_ was a bit of a euphemism. Bucky was currently the hottest star in porn, gay or straight –- awards here, convention appearances there, money flowing in and jism flowing out. (Onset.) Anyhow, he definitely needed some alone time. Even if he wasn't going to spend all of it alone.

And once he was showered, fresh, and leaning over the dressing-table mirror to check that his stubble was just the perfect length, the perfect contrast to his waxed chest and manicured pubes, he heard the knock on the dressing room door that he'd expected. “Come in,” he called out, sounding as warm and welcoming as it was possible to be.

The way that Bucky looked at it, maybe the porn-star/fluffer relationship was something that was strictly business, functional, and didn't even lead to a satisfying conclusion. But that was no reason for it not to be courteous, friendly. And even a little bit flirtatious. (Bucky was all about business. But _sex_ was his business, so...)

And the door opened in response to his voice. But it wasn't the expected handsome young man who popped his head around the door. “Bucky! Darling, I'm sorry,” Pepper, the senior production assistant said breathlessly, “But we're having to improvise a bit, regarding your, er, prep for shooting. Bruce is off sick, you remember Clint's off hiking in Canada, and Stephen's phoned in that his visa's run out and he's been pulled in for an interview to get it extended. In a nutshell, we were a bit desperate, but I had a brainwave and asked that nice new runner if he'd mind, er, expanding his job description a bit. You know the one – soft voice, nice boy, art student? He seemed quite amenable, he'll be along in a minute to, you know, get you all ready for the big scene!” She beamed, smiling widely. “Saved the day for us all, bless his heart! You know that Tony would throw a fit if we had to delay shooting even fifteen minutes! So, he'll be along in a minute, I'll leave you to it!”


	2. Chapter 2

And she looked so pleased with herself, and so honestly helpful, that even if Bucky hadn't been dumbstruck and shanghaied, he might not have been able to bring himself to protest. As it was, he felt his knees go weak a bit, from the shock of it. The door clicked shut behind Pepper, and Bucky gripped the dressing table behind him, then lowered himself into the chair in front of it. Carefully.

Oh, hell. Oh, _hell_. This probably wasn't about the worst thing that could ever, ever happen. He reminded himself, dimly and vaguely, that there had to be a famine going on _somewhere_ in the world, and a few wars elsewhere, and... It was no good. He wasn't _that_ kind of guy –- the earnest, charity-loving, tree-hugging panda-sponsoring kind. Or at least, he hadn't been since college. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was the worst. This was just the _worst_.

Because Bucky was blessed, and his life was perfect and amazing, in every detail. He was paid to fuck (and God knew he loved to fuck.) He was a machine in the sack, he never had one single performance problem, he was making more money than he could spend. And he was out to family and friends, about both being mostly gay, and working in the adult film industry. And they all still loved the ass off him _anyway_.


	3. Chapter 3

At least, everything _had_ been perfect. Perfect, up until six weeks back, when Tony, chief director and part-owner of the studio, had decided that they didn't have enough interns, skivvies, messenger-boys and hey-you-go-fetches around the place. He'd taken on a handful of eager youngsters of varying genders, sexualities, resumé styles and motivations for applying. Most of them hadn't stayed the course. Filming porn was a demanding vocation, especially for those lower down the food chain –- long hours, little artistic respect, and only the opportunities for advancement that you fought and worked your ass off for. (Maybe literally.)

But Steve, Steve was still around, and doing a good job by reputation too. Steve Rogers, a young art student at the local state university, working part-time hours where he could fit it in around his demanding studies. And maybe that was the reason he'd managed to stay the course, where the rest of his cohort had largely fallen by the wayside. He was here to make damn good money for part-time hours, with no dreams of a starring role in front of the cameras, a career in porn, or even touching up (!) his resumé with eyes for Hollywood, and a straight-world acting career. Steve, too, was strictly business, if in a different way to Bucky.

He was hard-working, and friendly, and already well-liked by the whole FreshnRaw Film Company family. So that was all good, and the job had to be great, for him.

For Bucky, it wasn't so good. Not since the day that Steve walked onset, six weeks back, and Bucky took one look at him. Took one look, and, well...

It's incredible, that a porn star could be so sappy and sentimental, could fall in love at first sight like any other idiot. Not that Bucky didn't have _feelings_ , of course he had feelings. But you couldn't get to the stage he was at, in the business he was in, and not toughen up a little. He'd had boyfriends and the odd girlfriend over the past few years. Some had been okay with his profession, some hadn't been able to hack it and had moved on with his well wishes. Some he'd been truly fond of, some had been just passing flings.


	4. Chapter 4

But honestly, truly, he'd thought he was past the stage of... of... Well, of that one look that he'd taken, and it had been _plenty_. Looking at a tousle-headed young guy standing in the middle of the screening room, talking to Tony with a serious look on his face, with a tray of coffees for the talent in one hand, and a sheaf of papers under one arm. He'd had a slightly aquiline nose, and a drift of freckles across it. His eyes were a gentle blue, and wide and clear. His shoulders were broad in an old greying-black t-shirt that was washed almost to shreds. (His ass was perfectly beautiful in slightly too-large jeans, not falling-off-his-ass large, but just enough room that there was only the merest hint of everything that Bucky wanted a better, closer look at. It was maybe his only perfect feature, that ass, but everything else was imperfectly flawless, immediately, in Bucky's eyes.)

And in the six weeks since, he'd been trying to work his way around to doing something _about_ it. It was crazy, but in those first moments after first seeing Steve Rogers, he'd just walked away. (On wobbly legs, it was true. But he'd walked away.) He'd known –- right away –- that something significant and unforgettable was happening to him, even if he wasn't sure exactly what. It had made him feel vulnerable, and unnerved, and a little bit as if he were going into shock.

He just hadn't been ready to deal with it. That was what he'd told himself. He needed time to think, to assess the earth-shattering experience that had hit him like a truck. But of course, once he'd got a grip on himself, then he'd be a _man_ about it. He'd plan it out, he'd make his move. Of _course_ he would.


	5. Chapter 5

He wasn't suddenly _shy_ and _timid_ , for God's sake. He hadn't inexplicably lost his ability to charm and dazzle, to pick up anyone who took his fancy whenever the fancy took him. He was a _world-renowned porn-star,_ who could keep it hard on camera as long as even the most punishing director required, never had performance anxiety, never the slightest softness or droop. He had more sexual and social confidence than the average _roomful_ of people.

It would be _fine_. That was what he'd sternly told himself. And that was prior to spending the next six weeks, from that moment up until now, in a state of panic. Well, panicky _episodes_ , whenever he seriously considered trying to make an approach with Steve. To chat him up, to suggest a casual drink together.

Maybe a quick trip to the altar, the rest of their lives together? It was unhinged, and so was he. He didn't even _know_ this kid.

The panic episodes had alternated with lulls of unquiet, uneasy calm, where he'd refused to think about it at all. A lovely state of total denial, and the only way to maintain any kind of cool and _savoir faire_ onset. Certainly when the tantalizing, lithe, pretty imp who was haunting his dreams was onset, too.

So he'd done fuck-all, basically. Completely wimped-out, and let day after day and week after week slip by, with barely a mumbled word thrown vaguely in Steve's direction. Even their supposed introduction had been an underwhelming evasion of real contact –- just the assistant director, Hope Pym, vaguely waving a hand in Steve's direction, while talking to Bucky. Who'd been huddled in his fluffy white robe in his onset decking-chair, the day after laying eyes on Steve for the first time. “You want coffee, darling?” she'd asked him. And not bothered to wait for a response, before swiveling around to where Steve was collecting the empty cups from the craft table, and calling out, “Hey! You – yes, new boy! What is it, Simon? Serge? Uhhh...”


	6. Chapter 6

“Steve, Ms. Pym,” he'd said politely –- with a heavenly sweetness on his mild boyish face. The most patient person alive, Bucky had thought, an angel from heaven. Sent down especially, to drive Bucky crazy with yearning.

And Hope had waved a hand vaguely at him, in acknowledgment. “That's it, Steve, _Steve_. Stevo, be a good boy and run and get Bucky here – Mr Barnes, the star of the show, you know that, right? -- a latte, with extra maple sugar. That's your order, right, Bucky sweetie? Oh, and another americano with two espresso shots for me. Chop chop, sweetie!”

So there they were, introduced, practically old friends. It wasn't as if Bucky hadn't already known his _name_. In the previous twenty-four hours he'd made it his mission to learn every damn thing he could about Steve Rogers, porn set runner and art student. It wasn't nearly enough, but he had such a thirst to know about him, and to _know_ him, that nothing would have been.

And Hope had snapped her fingers rather rudely, so that Steve nodded politely and disappeared, off to fulfill the snippy detailed requirements of the entitled over-privileged talent, and its minders.

That was one day in, and this was six weeks in, and barely anything had changed in the meantime. He'd hardly even managed to hold a conversation with the guy, after that first damp squib of an encounter. (Where he'd not opened his mouth once, and hidden behind his shades while Hope did his talking for him. Steve probably thought he was the kind of arrogant asshole who thought he was too good to talk to the 'help'. Any interactions up until now had been restricted to the 'extra olives and rye bread, please' and 'tell her I'll call back later' variety.


	7. Chapter 7

_Ludicrous_. It was pathetic. And he'd flagellated himself about it, and promised himself that he would make his move soon, and tried not to hyperventilate when Steve was around him onset, and–-.

He'd done nothing. _Nothing_. And now –- now he was huddled in his trailer, with his arms wrapped in a defensive pose around his middle, with the fate he'd done nothing to pursue headed his way. Headed his way like a cyclone, like a beautifully mannered hurricane.

Oh, hell. Surely there was some mistake going on here? He was relieved at the thought. That was it, Pepper had just got _confused_. She'd mixed up Steve with one of the other runners, and thought she was sending that pure and perfect angel when she wasn't. No, it would be one of the other guys –- one of the lithe and muscular dudes who looked like they'd just stepped out of the gym, and were probably continually on the lookout to edge their way into fluffing, and then performing in front of the camera.

Steve would never volunteer for _fluffing_. This kind of thing... Bucky just couldn't associate it in his head with Steve's wide blue eyes, his sweet frank smile. The guy was an _art student._ He was voluntarily spending years of his life working his ass off, for a vocation that was probably never going to pay the bills. And Bucky happened to know -- look, his inquiries had been _super-discreet_ \-- that he spent the rest of his free time volunteering at pet shelters, and helping out at Habitat for Humanity. Working insane hours, dedicating himself to the service of humanity, he was practically a _saint_. And probably a virgin.

And Bucky distracted himself from that feverishly uncomfortable thought, by reminding himself that Steve volunteered at the local animal shelter, homeless shelter, served as an usher at his church and did a little Bible teaching for _fun_. Was that a guy who'd regard fluffing as a stepping-stone to his preferred professions? _That_ was the kind of guy he was.


	8. Chapter 8

So it was impossible. He reassured himself of that: and then stood up, stretched, and took a look in the mirror. One of the other guys would be along in a second, to service him not quite to the point of no return, and then he'd be show-ready and all set for the real performance. That was what he needed to be thinking about. Not pretty blue eyes, and whether Steve was an innocent as he looked.

He preened a bit in front of the full-length mirror, let his robe fall open to take a look at the goods underneath. (With just a bit of a pang that he wasn't preening for Steve. Was the guy even bi, he wondered, and then shut that right down.) But this was what was important right now –- checking that his chest was perfectly waxed, his muscle-tone taut, his cock hygenically prepped and trimmed and ready for –- ready for --.

There was a knock on the door, and Bucky was sweating a bit. Without any justification, obviously. “Come in,” he said, and leaned against the dressing table. He didn't bother to pull his robe together. Given what this call was for –- and what half the staff got an eyeful of onset every day –- what was the point?

But there was no response for a moment. Bucky could hear talking outside the trailer door. And he was so perfectly attuned to the note and timbre of Steve's light pleasant voice, that he knew immediately.


	9. Chapter 9

With hindsight, a panic attack, and locking himself in the dressing-room, weren't the optimum courses of action open to him. But by then, it was a little too late.

Ten minutes later, Bucky was feeling pretty down and sorry for himself. _This_ wasn't the way that a multi-award winning, highly recompensed, rock-hard and reliable porn star ought to be treated.

“No, no _way_ ,” Bucky said firmly. And that ought to have been the end of it. But he was dealing with Nat Romanov, the new onset assistant and process manager. Who was looking to prove her worth, and make her mark on the production company they both worked for.

The company was FreshnRaw Productions. And Nat was now responsible for making sure that _every_ project went off smoothly, and _everyone_ was facilitated in performing their roles to the highest degree of excellence. And Bucky... well, he was responsible for his own roles. Making sure they were convincing, and, uh, satisfying.

“Look, it's either _him_ , or you're on your own,” Nat advised him shortly. She was seeming to lose patience, and taking more interest in the clipboard that was permanently lodged in her hand, loaded up with the week's filming schedule. “Loki is off visiting his sick mom in the drying-out clinic, Wanda has an international athletic meet coming up, and Vision still hasn't got his yearly test results back to say he's a-ok for all purposes. If Steve hadn't _very helpfully_ put himself forward for fluffy, fluffy, fluffing duties, I might have had to make the _ultimate sacrifice._ Got down on my knees, to titillate you to a performance-ready state myself”

And Bucky didn't say 'God forbid', because he was a gentleman like that. But Nat wasn't his type. She was probably _someone's_ type –- tall with jet-black hair and full lips, and enough upper-body muscle and mass that he wouldn't take her on arm-wrestling. Actually she looked like a runway model, combined with a cage-fighter, definitely a Gina Carano type. She was easy super-hot enough to star in front of the cameras, instead of chivvying the small studio's big names about every damn thing, to make sure their performances were up to par.


	10. Chapter 10

She was good at her job, and normally Bucky listened to her and went along. Because they were a team, and it was about putting out excellent product and making the studio more and more successful, so they _all_ won. Except now, and over this. Now, he was drawing a _line in the sand._

“What have you got _against_ Steve, anyhow?” Nat asked him now. And she shimmied up a little closer as she asked it, faced him a bit more head-on and confrontational than he required. “Poor kid, has he done something to offend you?” But her smile was sly –- the conniving _bitch_ –- and she just couldn't resist adding, “Or is it that you'd _like_ to have something against him? Eh?”

The look on Bucky's face must have provided sufficient answer, and it made her laugh out loud. Which was _unacceptable_ , given that she was teasing the studio's top star and hottest seller, the undisputed alpha male of FreshnRaw Productions. Was the woman a fool? (The woman was a little bit intimidating. Even to him.)

And Bucky scowled, turning around and all ready to storm off in a huff. Except that the mad bitch decided to scamper around him like she was playing ring-a-ring-a-rosy, round the maypole, and played lady traffic cop with a hand held up flat against his chest. (He couldn't help a mental note that that was an _excellent_ pose, that she had natural authority and would make a terrific domme, if only the studio manager could talk her into a performing role one of these days.) “Aw, sweetie, don't run away,” she coaxed. “Is that it, then? You've got a widdle cwush on everybody's favourite pretty-boy runner?”


	11. Chapter 11

_Damn_ it. He could have marched off, or yelled at her, or denied it convincingly. He was an actor, after all. A porn actor, true, but still an _actor_.

But he was pretty sure she'd suspected already for a while now. And he could use someone to talk to, who wasn't an idiot. Nat at least fulfilled that person specification, even if she wasn't the warmest shoulder he could have cried on.

So instead, Bucky let the crazy maenad drag him into the studio's tiny, sunlight-bright kitchen, evading grips and cameramen. Oh, and giving the finger to a yelling Tony, who wanted some reassurance that Bucky was aware they had to finish the shot _today_ , buddy, today! And was also hoping that he hadn't wasted any valuable jizz last night with people who weren't on _payroll_ , _pal_!

Nat slammed the kitchen door behind them, and steered Bucky to sit down on a stool, while she brewed him an espresso. And cackled fiendishly, and grilled him.

“So -– buddy,” she opened, as he sipped the tarry black brew. Her tits were trying to lever out of her low-cut long-sleeve tee, as she leaned on the breakfast bar and grinned at him. “How long has this thing been going on?”

“Oh, don't make like you don't know,” he growled at her. “Are you going to try to convince me that you didn't have your suspicions? You wouldn't have bothered tripping me into anything otherwise, would you?”

Oh, she was clearly thrilled. It was nice to be giving _somebody_ such a wonderful morning. The bitch actually _clapped her hands_. “Well, you've been watching him a lot, Bucky,” she pointed out, sobering up a bit.


End file.
